


Reaction

by RubyRollup



Category: Crimson Peak - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Crimson Peak, F/M, cinema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyRollup/pseuds/RubyRollup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a fifteen month wait for Crimson Peak and Sir Thomas Sharpe.<br/>OFC has an unexpected reaction to what's on-screen...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is what I anticipate my own reaction to be when I eventually watch Crimson Peak...

For as long as I can remember, watching the trailer reel has always been my favourite part of the cinema experience (which is why I hate being seated late and practically lose my mind on the odd occasion it does happen). The theatre was almost packed to capacity, the last few stragglers traipsing in, fumbling their way to their seats.

The last time I felt this excited was March, seated in the cinema chair, mentally urging the trailer reel to malfunction so we could get to _Coriolanus_.

I am a little infatuated.

Four years ago I walked into _Thor_ , excited to drool over the new sexy blonde action hero. I walked out two hours later, my head swimming with images of the mysteriously dark villain and wondering why I hadn’t seen him in anything else.

Since _Avengers_ , well, let’s just say that Tom Hiddleston has ruined me for all men.

If I get to heaven one day and get to choose a partner for eternity, he would be the one. Mental? Yes. I know.

Firstly: he’s a celebrity. And as genuine as he seems in all of his interviews, he is a thespian. A good one. A brilliant one, actually. I don’t know _him_. Secondly, and this should probably be first, he does not know of my existence. And even if he did, what exactly about me would grab and hold his attention?

As rational as I am, the fact that I am fully aware of all of this information, does nothing to curtail the feelings he evokes in me.

So there I sat, again, in a darkened theatre next to my best friend (who, bless her, tolerates my weird quirks). It had been a fifteen month wait for Sir Thomas Sharpe.

My excitement, however, was slightly tempered with a building tension and anxiety, which I fear had been caused by the twittering of my fellow fan girls. Tom’s become renowned for his preference for dark roles. Indeed, it’s what his fans love most about him. But, for some strange reason, what I was about to see had me on edge, and there was a great possibility of me running screaming from the theatre.

My anxiety grew with the darkness. Mentally, I was giving myself the worst scolding for being such a marshmallow about a damn movie, but the rational part of my brain seemed to have lost its connection with my emotions. I barely registered the guy coming to sit on the open seat next to me – I did register (and snorted at) the fact that he’s wearing a baseball cap very low over his face (I mean, jeez, we are in a darkened movie theatre waiting to see Tom Hiddleston – no one wants to look at you, dude).

Thirty minutes or so into the movie…and the feeling wouldn’t go away. To be honest, I wasn’t registering much of the film that didn’t revolve around him, but gasped very loudly every time Tom appeared on screen. My drink (as well as the ice in the cup) were finished, I’d removed my jacket, and still I was having trouble breathing comfortably.

The scene on screen heated up, and…

Leaving my jacket and bag on my seat, I bolted for the exit before my popcorn and Coke was all over the guy next to me.

Fortunately, the foyer was empty (everyone else was inside a cinema, not losing their minds and overreacting for nonsense) and I slouched against the wall furthest from the theatre door. I hung my head between my knees, my hair shielding my face. It helped. The queasy feeling was starting to go away. My pulse was slowing.

A few minutes later I felt a hand on my back. I warned my friend that this might happen and told her not to worry. But part of what I love about her is that she fusses over me like that sometimes.

“Sorry,” I say. “Please, go back in. I’ll be in in a minute.”

“It’s okay. I was leaving actually, as I already know how it ends.”

The deep, unexpected but strangely familiar voice made me look up – into sympathetic blue eyes and a face whose contours I’d never seen in person but memorized every plane of. Hidden under the baseball cap was Tom Hiddleston.

I was temporarily robbed of the ability to speak.

“I must say, I don’t expect everyone to like my movies, but I’ve never seen anyone run out of the theatre. Looked like you were having a panic attack. Are you alright?”

Still unable to form words, I nodded.

He held out his hand to help me stand. How many times have I daydreamed about those hands? I took it and he led me to one of the chairs.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he said to me, as I sat, and ran over to the refreshment counter.

Sanity started to prevail (his back was to me and so I could function a bit better without the distraction of his eyes and bare throat). Fishing a hair tie out of my jeans, I put my hair up. When I looked up again, he was in front of me, handing me a cup. I took a sip while he sat down. Coke (and ice, I discovered). Not only was he sitting next to me, he’d noticed my drink.

“Thank you,” I heard myself say at last.

Now, I could stare at pictures of this man whole day if I’m given the chance – and very often a colleague would roll their eyes at me when they catch me talking to images of him on my computer screen. Not so easy with him sitting next to me.

Eventually he asked, “So, do all my movies elicit this kind of reaction?”

He sounded so serious and I found myself unable to contain a giggle. “Um, no.”

Looking at him was making it difficult to form sentences. Goodness, even just sitting in such close proximity to him was hard. And I could feel his eyes on me. I just looked down and sipped my Coke.

“You’re quite talkative,” he remarked after a few minutes.

“Sorry. You’re not wrong, actually. People usually can’t get me to shut up, and I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”

“I’m glad I don’t make you nervous then.”

 _Oh, please, stop talking and looking at me._ The combination of his smell, smile and velvety voice was addling what was left of my already addled brain.

“I’m trying to channel the nervous energy into keeping my mouth shut.” And clearly causing my brain-to-mouth filter to malfunction.

My gaffe made him hoot with laughter; my mouth just fell open. I made Tom Hiddleston laugh, and somewhere at the back of my mind, I hear my friend telling me that she always knew I would be able to.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you,” I lied, getting up. He was making me more nervous than the movie. “I should get back inside.”

“Don’t forget your drink,” he said, handing the cup I’d set down back to me. “If you’re going to watch the rest, you might need it.”

The smirk accompanying that statement almost made me sit down again. I took the cup from him, our fingers briefly touching.

“Thank you, for making sure I didn’t pass out in the foyer.”

The million pictures I have of him didn’t do the smile he gave me justice. “You’re welcome…”

“Ria,” I say, clasping his outstretched hand. He holds on for longer than is decent.

“You’re welcome, Ria, and it’s a pleasure to have met you.” I’ve always thought my name boring but it sounds sexy falling from his lips.

I feel like a deer caught in headlights, and cannot seem to break away from his cerulean gaze. Instead of making me cower, the way he looks at me makes feel brave. And before my courage fails, I breathe, just loud enough for him to hear, “In the end, the pleasure will always be all mine.”


End file.
